


The Concubine

by GravenLament



Category: Harry Potter - J. K. Rowling
Genre: Alternate Universe - Canon Divergence, Distopia, F/M, Forced Bonding, Forced Pregnancy, Gang Rape, M/M, Mpreg, Rape/Non-con Elements, Violence
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2018-05-10
Updated: 2018-05-15
Packaged: 2019-05-04 19:15:29
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: Graphic Depictions Of Violence, Major Character Death, Rape/Non-Con
Chapters: 3
Words: 7,527
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/14599887
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/GravenLament/pseuds/GravenLament
Summary: In a world where Lord Voldemort and his followers won the first war back in the late 1970s, Harry Potter has been brought up as a foster son of the Malfoy family, and is the Dark Lord's chosen future concubine. Severus Snape, a lower echelon Death Eater, and Voldemort's Potions Master, discovers the young man's fate, and must decide if he will risk everything to save the only person who has ever loved him.





	1. The Rites of Spring

**Author's Note:**

> Don't own it. Wish I did. Playing in the sandbox. Etc.

Severus bit back a scream as a weak Crucio washed over him, igniting and overstimulating his nervous system. Cruel, boyish laughter echoed around the subterranean Slytherin common room. His wand was pried from his clenched fist as the curse was released.

 

It was that time of year again. Initiation season. This year's crop of young Slytherin bucks were hot to trot and ready to earn their Dark Marks. As a lower echelon Death Eater, Severus had been designated the unfortunate proctor of the final test for over a decade now. He was only a half-blood after all, and the Dark Lord did like to torture his minions.

 

For a man like Severus, being forced to participate in this particular rite of passage was deeply humiliating, and he suspected the Dark Lord continued to assign this test to his novices as further punishment for his initial rejection of joining the Death Eaters in favor of concentrating solely on his Potions Mastery.

 

One on one his inexperienced attackers could not have hoped to match wands with him, but with hexes and curses coming at him from four directions in a confined space, and an inability to apparate out of the situation, Severus wasn't able to hold them at bay forever. His shields eventually crumbled under the onslaught and he was subdued.

 

“Fuck, Goyle, drag him over to the fire so we can see what we're doing!” Draco Malfoy's nasal whine was unmistakeable. Someone grunted, and then meaty hands gripped his wrists before dragging him across the room.

 

Despite hitting him with a blinding hex the initiates were taking no pains to conceal their identities. When Voldemort questioned him about the boys' performance, Severus would take immense pleasure in recounting their sloppiness and stupidity. It was small and petty in the grand scheme of things, but Severus Snape took any opportunity, no matter how minute, to exact revenge as a proper Slytherin should.

 

“Get his kit off, Nott!”

 

Hands fumbled at his robes.

 

“He's got 'em spelled, the cranky bastard.”

 

“Crabbe, give him your knife.”

 

Another grunt and then Severus felt cold steel running along his skin as his clothing was unceremoniously cut away. That would cost the little bastards extra. He was fond of this particular set of robes. They were an expensive acromantula silk blend that he had purchased only a month prior.

 

“Scrawny ain't he?”

 

“Just take the potion and close your eyes. I mean, it could be worse. Imagine if you had to bed that mudblood Granger.”

 

“That's just sick, Draco.”

 

“Move out of the way. I'm first.”

 

“Hey!”

 

“Malfoys don't do sloppy seconds.”

 

Severus was shoved onto his stomach and his rump was lifted until he was resting on his knees. He grit his teeth and reenforced his occlumency shields. There was some pain when Draco forced himself into Snape's body, but it wasn't too bad despite only having a bit of saliva for lubrication. Severus was hardly a virgin, and the Malfoy scion was not well endowed. Considering the way he was thrusting erratically, with a distinct lack of rhythm, Draco was no more experienced with sex than he was with subterfuge. The brat didn't last long at all, and he soon collapsed over his teacher's back, panting.

 

“Budge up, Malfoy.”

 

Draco pulled his wilted prick from his teacher and allowed his housemate to take his place.

 

“Damn. He's tighter than Daphne, that's for sure.” Nott grunted as he entered his supine victim, causing his comrades to laugh.

 

“A bloody giant would be tighter than Daphne, Teddy. She's shagged half the boys in Slytherin. He wasn't half bad though. We'll have to find a pretty little Hufflepuff boy to use instead of the same old slags everyone's had. Merlin knows Pansy won't put out.”

 

Young Nott lasted a bit longer than Malfoy, but not by much. His performance was also nothing to write home about. The squelching feeling of his seed joining Draco's was nauseating. When the boy pulled out Severus felt the viscous fluid begin to trickle down his thighs.

 

“Are you really going to marry her, Draco? I mean, she has an excellent pedigree, but...”

 

“Probably not. Father has been reconsidering the betrothal. Parkinson's father isn't inner circle as you know, and his business decisions of late haven't been very sound.”

 

“I also heard old Parkinson lost a bundle hushing up a mistress. Bore him a bastard son my dad says. Can you imagine? The man went through three wives trying to beget an heir, and they only gave him daughters, ugly ones at that, and then some mudblood slut finally gives him a son and it's a bastard that he can't even publicly claim.”

 

“I wonder if he'll let it come to Hogwarts? Durmstrang won't accept it. Not a half-blood bastard.” Draco mused.  
  


The inane banter between his attackers was almost as nauseating as being drenched in their spunk. Severus would enjoy informing the Dark Lord of their idiocy. They took absolutely no care to conceal their identities, and spoke of things that would leave him with excellent blackmail material to use later.

 

“I don't know why Parkinson paid the bitch. I wouldn't. Why not just obliviate her and dump the sprog in an orphanage? Sentimental nonsense, I say. It's no wonder he's not inner circle.” Nott scoffed.

 

Crabbe and Goyle were larger boys, and caused him a bit more pain, but they were thankfully even less experienced than Malfoy and lasted just a few thrusts apiece. Neither said a word as they took him. Just grunt and thrust, and then they came.

 

Severus was relieved. It was almost over. He looked forward to crawling to his quarters and into the hottest shower he could tolerate. Merlin he hated spring.

 

Severus felt his arse cheeks spread apart and would have winced if he could. He was incredibly sore. He would have to tend to himself and down several potions before he could take that much anticipated shower. There was no way he could go to Poppy in his current state, and he knew he'd regret it if he left off healing himself until morning.

 

“Well?” Malfoy demanded.

 

“Bleeding plenty.” Nott sounded smug. “He's not so tight now.”

 

The boys laughed again. They would pay dearly for that too. They didn't graduate for another six weeks, and there were multitudinous undetectable things he could do to them in the meantime. An impotency curse for starters. Or perhaps he would slip them some of the sterilization draught the Dark Lord had him develop to use on squibs.

 

Someone gripped Severus's hair and wrenched his head back.

 

“Give the Dark Lord our regards, half-blood.” Draco sneered close to his ear. His breath was sour with fire whiskey.

 

Then he was left alone, naked, arse in the air, before the common room fire. For anyone to happen upon. Whatever spell they'd used to incapacitate him didn't feel as though it would be wearing off any time soon. Severus prayed that it wouldn't be a first year to stumble upon him in the morning. He hated obliviating children. Who knew what long term effects that spell could have on developing young minds?

 

Severus was startled when a cool, gentle hand stroked his back. The tingle of several cleansing spells removed the sticky mess from his bottom, and then healing magic reduced his pain. Torn tissues knitted back together, bruises began to fade as he was eased onto his belly, and then over on his back. Silky fabric, possibly a dressing gown, was draped over him, and then the gentle hand returned tilting his face up to his unknown rescuer. His hair was brushed back from his face and a wand traced his brow, healing a cut he hadn't even noticed during the violence of the ritual gang rape he'd endured. A mild Tergeo charm cleansed him of blood and sweat.

 

A quiet voice hummed in thought, and then Severus heard a barely audible diagnostic charm muttered, followed by a generalized Finite. The Potions Master didn't move immediately. His body shivered with the sensation of pins and needles as the spells holding him dissolved, and he allowed the magic time to fully dissipate to avoid his muscles going into painful spasms. A Crucio is a Crucio, no matter how weak, and Severus Snape knew better than to move too quickly in its aftermath.

 

“Professor?” his rescuer whispered.

 

Snape slowly opened his eyes and gazed up at his unlikely hero.

 

Harry Potter, one of his quieter, more introspective snakes, and Malfoy's foster brother, looked down at him with an open concern that would have been more at home on the face of a Hufflepuff.

 

Severus could have groaned. This was worse than being discovered by a first year. The boy was probably the most tenderhearted Slytherin who had ever lived, and Severus could not obliviate him. Not the Malfoy fosterling.

 

Though the lad was not, and would not ever be marked, the Dark Lord had an interest in him. Being the only other living Parselmouth, it was unsurprising. That and the boy's amazing natural aptitude for magic guaranteed interest. There was little Potter couldn't do when he put his mind to it. He had started spell crafting even younger than Severus had.

 

If Harry Potter was a pureblood, would he have been in the group that assailed him this evening? The question came unbidden, but Severus had to wonder.

 

No. If Potter was pureblooded then he likely never would have become the Malfoy's foster son, and definitely not a Slytherin. His parents wouldn't have been eradicated. Wouldn't have been made an example of. There wouldn't have been a need. Oh they still might have died. They had been Gryffindors after all, and the Dark Lord gained few followers from that House. Only half-bloods and mudbloods were taken into fosterage when orphaned, though it would often have been kinder for the children to die with their parents. Purebloods were taken in by relatives. They were wanted.

 

The blood tainted fosterlings were often treated as little more than whipping boys in their new families. Look at poor Miss Granger. Her life with the Lestrange family was miserable at best, and a prime example of just how bad an idea the Dark Lord's fosterage program was. If Potter wasn't so gifted Lucius would treat the boy much the same, Severus was sure. As it was the elder Malfoy usually only treated Harry with cool aloofness in deference to their Lord, who personally placed the boy with the family.

 

“I will be fine, Mister Potter.”

 

“What more can I do to help you, Sir?”

 

“You have done enough.”

 

The boy hummed, obviously doubtful, and rested back on his heels.

 

“So this is what it means to serve Him.” Harry muttered, looking infinitely disappointed. “And to think I was jealous of Draco being allowed the Mark.”

 

Severus pushed himself up so that he could look directly into the boy's earnest young face. Even in sorrow and disappointment the lad was beautiful, especially by firelight. Severus's heart ached for his student. Though he had been the victim this night, he felt worse damage had been done to the boy who had lent him aid.

 

“In future you should be more careful to whom you say such things, Harry. The Dark Lord would not appreciate such statements, even from you.” Severus said, tone soft and without rebuke.

 

“I don't think the Dark Lord cares much for the opinions of his whore either way, Sir.”  
  


“I beg your pardon?” Severus was aghast. Surely it couldn't be true.

 

“Well, the term he used was concubine, but it amounts to the same thing as far as I'm concerned.” Harry shrugged and looked down at his hands. “I won't be taking that apprenticeship I was offered once I graduate. I am to leave the Malfoys and move to the Dark Lord's keep. He intends to charge you with researching some ancient male fertility potions soon.”

 

“You can't be serious!” Severus grasped the boy's chin and forced eye contact.

 

“He knows I don't have the temperament to be a Death Eater, but I have all this magic, and of course the Parseltongue. Can't forget that. I think that was the deciding factor really. People have been saying it isn't right that our ruler has no heirs, even if he claims immortality.” Harry's eyes glimmered with unshed tears and he sighed. “If he must have heirs to hush up the masses I think he wants to ensure they will be powerful and share the Slytherin legacy.”

 

Severus felt an icy grip seize his heart as he accepted the truth of the boy's claim. The Dark Lord's interest in the lad now made a lot more sense. Why he was spared. Why he was given to the Malfoys. Why he was treated better than most fosterlings. The luminous, gifted young man was to sacrifice his future to act as the Dark Lord's brood mare. It was sickening.

 

“Oh, Harry...” Severus began to try to offer some comfort, but no more would come.

 

“I could bear it, even giving up the apprenticeship, if it weren't for the fact that my heart belongs to another. Has for a long time, and now I'll never know if anything could have ever come of it.” Tears slid from emerald eyes and Harry looked away. Severus let him.

 

“There are still several weeks left until you graduate. Time enough, to...” Severus stopped when the boy laughed.

 

“Sow my wild oats?” Harry gave his Professor a sad smile. “No. To have a taste of the love I've imagined and then have to give it up for Him? It would be miserable. Besides, I can't even imagine what He would do if he found out I didn't come to Him chaste.” Harry shuddered. “I don't want to. Nor do I want to endanger the man I love out of selfishness. It's better that he never know. The Dark Lord will get his virgin as expected, and I will persevere.”

 

“I could always tell him the stories of the ancient male fertility potions are just that. Perhaps he would tire of you and release you.”

 

“Severus!” Harry whispered, voice hoarse with urgency as he grasped the Potions Master's arm in desperation. “Don't! Don't even think that! He would kill you if he found out!”

 

The wild look in the boy's eyes told the man everything he needed to know. He remembered the way the boy would follow him around when he was small on the occasions the Potions Master visited Malfoy Manor. Always watching him. Always giving him the most heart breaking shy little smiles. He thought of the careful way the boy attended to his potions, always seeking his teacher's approval. Always pushing himself even though he didn't have the natural talent for the subject like his foster brother. The way he tended to Severus without judgment, but utmost tenderness when he found him this evening.

 

They gazed at one another for long moments. Harry eventually looked away, blushing, realizing he had given too much away with his passionate plea. Severus sat up strait and continued to stare at the young man. No one had ever loved him before, and to know now that someone as exceptional as Harry did, but that he was not free to bestow that love upon the Potions Master, was heartrending.

 

Severus noticed a tear well and then escape Harry's eye and reached out to brush it away. Harry grasped his wrist before he could make contact, turning his lovely face to the older man once again. Severus allowed a melancholy smile to curl the corner of his lips before covering Harry's hand, cradling it where it grasped his other wrist. He leaned forward and kissed the lad on his brow.

 

“I won't do anything foolish, Harry. You have my word. I won't interfere if that is your wish.”

 

Harry swallowed heavily before reaching up and allowing his free hand to cup Severus' cheek. Another tear fell. His eyes spoke volumes.

 

“Please keep yourself safe, Severus. Don't risk his ire.” Harry whispered, before pressing a warm and unexpected kiss to the corner of Snape's mouth. Then his hands fell away and he stood. He looked down at the older man with intense longing just a moment longer before he fled through the archway that led to the dormitories.

 

Severus pressed his fingertips to the burning spot where Harry's lips touched him. He closed his eyes and committed every sensation the kiss evoked in his body to memory. Never in his life had anyone ever treated him so tenderly, so sweetly. He would remember the brief blissful moment until the day that he died.

 

“Harry.” he rasped, throat constricting with the raw emotions that now raged within.

 


	2. At the Monster's Feet

The remaining weeks of term before graduation were agony for the Potions Master. Harry was rarely seen outside of classes, coming to the Great Hall for meals only occasionally. The young man was pale and wan, and kept his head bowed and eyes downcast as he picked at his food. He grew thinner, and as far as Severus knew, spoke not at all. None of his other professors seemed to care or even notice the way the youth was fading before their very eyes. As a half-blood, he was beneath their notice.

 

The morning after Harry completed his NEWTS he was escorted from the school by his foster father. Lucius Malfoy left instructions that his test results and diploma should be forwarded to the Dark Lord's Keep. That night Severus locked himself in his rooms and drank himself into a stupor just to keep his imagination from supplying him with images of Harry's first night as the Dark Lord's concubine. To stop himself from thinking about the pain the young man was no doubt experiencing.

 

All knew about their Lord's proclivities and appetites in the bedroom. More than a few broken souls were seen carted from the keep over the years after the Dark Lord was done playing with them. Men and women, all shuddering, cringing, wrecks after a night entertaining Lord Voldemort.

 

Severus cursed the Dark Lord's name, and cursed his own for his inability to help the young man who loved him. He thought of Harry's innocence and vitality, and how both were being annihilated whilst Severus sat knocking back tumbler after tumbler of whiskey. He replayed the sweet kiss Harry bestowed him over and over in his mind, and wept for what might have been. Finally he succumbed to inebriation and oblivion.

 

Severus awoke to a pounding headache, and barely managed to roll out of bed and make his way to his bathroom in time before his stomach rebelled fully, and emptied the last remains of the ill advised whiskey into the toilet. The man knelt and hugged the cold porcelain bowl, letting the frigid surface sooth his aching head for a few moments. The mingled scents of alcohol, bile, and disinfectant intensified his nausea, and he heaved again, but there was nothing left to come up. He grasped the sink basin and used it to haul himself to his feet, then stared bleary eyed into the mirror on the wall. He looked as bad as he felt.

 

How would Harry look this morning? He couldn't help but wonder. Severus could only hope that the Dark Lord would be at least a bit gentler with one he planned to keep long term. His concubine. Surely he wouldn't brutalize the young man and risk losing the future bearer of his heirs. Voldemort wasn't known for his patience or gentility. Harry would have had a difficult evening to say the least.

 

Severus growled low in his throat, hating the thought of Harry being initiated into adulthood through viciousness and brutality. He was a rare gem that should be treasured and handled with care. His first experience with sex should have been romantic. Sweet. Harry should have been made love to by someone who truly appreciated him.

 

Severus wrenched his gaze from the mirror and forced himself to attend to his usual morning ablutions. After showering, and downing two hangover remedies, he brushed his teeth and dressed in his usual methodical manner. Taking care to smooth a topical beard suppressor over his lower face after checking to make sure no shadow or stubble showed on his chin, Severus was confident no one would be able to tell he'd been completely wasted the night before. One last glance in the mirror confirmed it. He was his usual homely, yet scrupulously fastidious self.

 

When an owl delivered him a message from the Dark Lord as he forced himself to eat a healthy breakfast in the Great Hall, Severus wasn't surprised. After Harry's confession he had been expecting an audience with his Lord.

 

Severus abandoned his meal, stood, and made his way to the Headmistress.

 

“The Dark Lord has requested my presence, Delores.” Severus spoke mechanically as he bent down to address the much shorter witch. “I may not be back until tonight.”

 

The Headmistress narrowed her eyes at the Potions Master but nodded her acceptance. She had never liked him because of his half-blood status, but she was not brave enough to even consider defying their Lord.

 

Snape strode from the Great Hall in a flurry of billowing black robes. He was soon out of the castle and crossing the grounds at a feverish pace. One didn't keep the Dark Lord waiting, and he was anxious to see Harry as well. He hoped to catch a glimpse of the young man to quell the fear he felt for the youth. He needed to confirm that he was still well and whole before the anxiety would subside.

 

Severus apparated as soon as he cleared the wards and soon found himself marching up the long drive to the entrance of his Lord's keep. The massive black stone edifice hulked atop a low hill, dominating the barren moor where no other buildings stood for miles. The air was heavy with the cold tingle of dark magic, and the building looked more like an oversized sepulcher than castle. Severus couldn't help the shiver that raced up his spine, thinking this was no place for an innocent like Harry. It was oppressive enough for a wizard experienced with dark magic like Severus Snape. For Harry Potter he imagined it would become unbearable in rather short order.

 

Severus crossed the drawbridge refusing to look down into the moat below, which he knew to be teeming with inferi. After showing the Dark Lord's missive at the small guardhouse he was allowed through the magically reenforced iron gate. He barely had a moment to pause inside before a young liveried attendant appeared by his side to guide him to the throne room. He knew the way on his own, having been there countless times before, but no outsiders were permitted to wander the keep freely.

 

The Potions Master calmed his mind, carefully erected his Occlumency shields, and willed his countenance to perfect impassivity, determined to give away nothing to his Lord. He owed it to Harry to perform as perfectly as he could. He made a promise, and he would do his utmost to keep it.

 

It was all he could do to not let out of sigh of relief when he beheld the young wizard seated on a low ottoman at the Dark Lord's feet. Harry looked haggard, and Severus easily made out the split lip and bruised cheek marring the lovely face even at a distance, but he sat straight on his seat and wasn't shaking or cringing.

 

The Dark Lord lounged on his throne with a look of smug satisfaction as he carded his boney fingers through his concubine's hair, as if the young man was a mere pet. Severus supposed that to Voldemort that's all Harry really was. Useful for hushing up the clamoring masses, but never to be considered in any way an equal.

 

The disparity between the two was glaringly obvious, from the way Harry was made to sit below their Lord, to the diaphanous, nearly sheer robes of spring green that draped his body. Voldemort wore formal robes of heavy velvet befitting his station. Harry's were better suited to the boudoir. They announced to anyone who cared to look exactly what Potter's position was in the Dark Lord's life.

 

The difference in age and appearance was grotesque as well. In his seventies, the Dark Lord's face and form were warped by years of exposure to dark magic and arcane rituals. While he might once have been handsome he now looked more like an animated corpse, or demon. His eyes were sunken and bloodshot, and long graying hair hung to his shoulders in thin wispy waves.

 

Despite what he had endured the night before, Harry was still a vital seventeen year old. His skin, though pale, still looked healthy, and the beautiful green eyes still shone with life despite his desperate situation. He was beautiful and young, and seeing the Dark Lord rake his fingers through the youth's tousled ebony locks seemed obscene.

 

Severus crossed the throne room with measured steps and stopped a few feet away from where his former pupil sat stoically enduring their Lord's attentions. The Professor knelt and waited with head bowed for his master's acknowledgment.

 

“Rise, Severus.” the Dark Lord intoned, voice hissing and malevolent as ever.

 

“Good morning, My Lord. You have need of me?” Severus replied respectfully, forcing himself to look only at his lord and not at the boy at the monster's feet.

 

“You know young Harry, of course, Severus.” the Dark Lord practically purred as he tightly grasped the boy's hair and forced his head up to face his former Head of House.

 

“Of course, My Lord. Good morning to you as well, Mister Potter.” he said, tone even and disinterested.

 

“Good morning, Professor.” Harry whispered, eyes downcast.

 

Voldemort released his grip and began petting Harry's hair once more, chuckling to himself as he gave the boy what Severus supposed was meant to be an indulgent look. The young Slytherin didn't react, merely continued to stare at the floor.

 

“I have taken young Harry as my concubine, Severus.” Voldemort gloated.

 

“Congratulations, My Lord. He was an excellent student. I hope he will serve you well.” Snape forced himself to sound pleased at his master's revelation.

 

“I'm sure he will, Severus. That is why I've called for you. The people seem to think I need an heir. I need you to research and create a potion to make it possible for my concubine to provide one for me.”

 

A sickening smile spread across the Dark Lord's face and his hand drifted lower to stroke the young man's neck. Harry shivered, but made no protest or attempt to shrug off the caress.

 

“I have heard of such potions existing in ancient times, My Lord. I will begin immediate research. If you wish it I will travel to the continent and access the great library in Prague. Their collection of ancient Potions tomes is unrivaled.” Snape answered immediately in an eager tone. He would drag his feet and take as much time as he dared, but he would do as requested.

 

“There is no need. I have already acquired the materials you will need for your research. There are two possible potions, but both require ingredients that have become extinct. Your task is to experiment and find the appropriate replacements.”

 

“I am grateful for your forethought and generosity, My Lord.”

 

“Very good, Severus. The scrolls are waiting for you in the laboratory. I want you to reside here in the Keep this summer. This project is to be your only priority. I will send a message to Hogwarts explaining your prolonged absence. You may send a house elf for any personal items you may need in the meantime.”

 

“I am honored to participate in this project, My Lord. I will not fail you.”

 

“See that you don't,” the Dark Lord glared for a moment before snatching Harry's head back once again and sneering, “What do you say, Harry?”

 

“Thank you for your assistance, Professor Snape.” Harry whispered before the Dark Lord allowed him to lower his head once again.

 

“You're quite welcome, Mister Potter.” Severus replied, wishing, not for the first time, that he did not serve a monster that would make such disgusting demands.

 

“Oh do call him, Harry. My beloved concubine doesn't demand such formality.” Voldemort purred, before forcing Harry's head up a final time. “Do you, dearest?”

 

“No, My Lord.” Harry answered with a wince. “Professor Snape may of course use my given name.”

 

Voldemort chuckled and allowed Harry's head to fall forward, then resumed petting the untamed black mane. The look on the Dark Lord's face was smug and condescending, and even a tad bit playful. He winked at the potions master and gave his minion a smile.

 

“I don't know who to thank for his delightful manners, you or Lucius, but he is quite the treat. So obliging, my little morsel, wouldn't you say, Severus?” the old serpent hissed in an oily tone.

 

“You are a most fortunate man, My Lord.” Severus answered, afraid to say more.

 

“That I am, so true.” With one last cruel smile Voldemort gestured toward the door. “You may leave us now, Severus. I know you will want to begin your work at once.”

 

“Yes, My Lord, I will begin immediately. Good day to you, and to you as well, Harry.” The false ritual of observing social graces was grating on his nerves, but his tone remained unfailingly polite.

 

“Good day, Severus,” the Dark Lord said before growling and gripping the young man's hair, “Harry...”

 

Harry lifted his head on his own this time, his eyes held nothing but misery as they gazed up at Severus.

 

“Good day, Professor.”

 

The Dark Lord patted his head and leaned back in supreme satisfaction.

 

“There's a good boy.” he muttered.

 

Severus turned and left before his control slipped and he allowed the revulsion engendered by the entire exchange to show on his face.

 

 


	3. To Ruminate on Dreams

Severus hurled a beaker across the room in a fit of frustration fueled rage, and allowed a grim smile of satisfaction slip onto his face when he heard the glass break on the damp stone wall of his dungeon laboratory. The Potions Master turned his attention back to the cauldron on his workbench, and his features twisted back into a fierce scowl in the blink of an eye when he beheld the congealed mess contained within. He pulled his stool closer and collapsed upon it in near exhaustion.

 

It was no use. He had been working on the Male Maternity potion the Dark Lord ordered for weeks now, and he was no closer to completing the task to his admittedly high standard of perfection. More than a month had passed, and the Dark Lord wasn't known for his patience. The warlock would expect results soon, and technically Severus could provide the Dark Lord with a working potion for his concubine this very minute. It hadn't been difficult to find replacement ingredients for those that had gone extinct. He knew his ingredients like the back of his hand, and with his extensive knowledge could divine substitutions with ease. Snape brewed a multitudinous bounty of Male Maternity potions during his time at the Keep, but wouldn't be willing to give a single dose of the philters he created to a human.

 

The problem lie in how dangerous it would be for the one who ingested the concoction. The subject would indeed fall pregnant thanks to the brew, but it was likely the subject wouldn't survive the endeavor. Indeed, as far as Severus could tell from the testing he had done on rats, the resulting fetus only had about a fifty percent chance of surviving gestation and birth. Judging by the original formula, this had always been a problem with this type of potion. That was why it fell out of favor once the Blood Adoption potion was invented. It was far safer to take an unwanted orphan child and induct it into a family that way.

 

The fact of the matter was, even with magic, the male body was in no way suited for the bearing of children. It was entirely unnatural, and a wizard's magic knew it, and stimulated the host's immune system to reject the life artificially growing within as if it were an infection, or parasite. The longer the pregnancy was permitted to continue, the more likely it was to kill the wizard.

 

Severus had been tasked with facilitating Harry Potter's death, no matter what the Dark Lord called it, and it wasn't to be borne. The young man deserved so much more, so much better, than what their Lord decreed.

 

Severus leaned on the table and rested his head on his arms. He was so weary. He had slept only sparingly during his agitated quest to find a formula that would spare Harry's life. He decided to retire early, and hope that inspiration might come to him when he started fresh in the morning.

 

The Potions Master wished he could at least see the young man. He hadn't spotted him once during the long weeks of his residency. Not since that unbearable audience in the throne room. The young concubine was given little liberty, it would seem. From what he could glean from the sparse conversations he had with Lucius, and occasionally Mulciber, in the dining hall, The Dark Lord only brought his concubine to the throne room on occasion, and never left him alone outside their private chambers. He guarded the young wizard jealously, and never let him stray more than a few feet away from his side.

 

It rankled Severus, that his friend could be so blasé, so entirely uninterested in the fate of the boy he raised along side his own son. Lucius did his duty to his Lord, and now that the young man was no longer living beneath his roof, it seemed that he washed his hands of him.

 

Mulciber, on the other hand, seemed far too interested in Harry Potter's fate. He positively salivated while postulating on how long the lad would last as the Dark Lord's current paphian. The man was a sadistic pervert of the worst order, as far as Severus was concerned. It was common knowledge among the Death Eaters that the man regularly procured the Dark Lord's left-overs for his own pleasure; a low to which not even the notoriously twisted LeStrange brothers dared to stoop. The Potions Master didn't even want to speculate what the vicious fool did to those poor tortured souls he purchased from the Dark Lord's private guards, but it was clear the man had similar designs when it came to Harry.

 

Snape wondered if he were the only person that actually cared about Harry Potter's welfare. Left alive anyway. The boy's parents loved him dearly, or course. Enough to sacrifice their lives to keep him safe and free. It was too bad they weren't successful, but their dedication to him was above reproach. His godfather was missing and presumed dead, and had been for the past sixteen years. His godmother might as well be, all things considered. She and her husband were no better off than the victims of Dementors. As a half-blood, none of the Hogwarts staff paid him any attention, despite his talent and exemplary grades. That left Severus Snape as the soul individual left on earth to be concerned for the young wizard. And concerned he was. He was startled to realize he would be concerned even if he never found out about the boy's feelings for him. He had served as his Head of House for too long to do otherwise.

 

Now this catastrophe. This utter abomination. Severus had long regretted his decision to take the Dark Mark, but now he truly loathed himself for doing so, but had no notion as to how he could redeem himself. No idea how he could help Harry. In his fantasies he was so much stronger, braver, than he was in real life. He imagined spiriting the young wizard away to country that had no ties to the Dark Lord's regime. Finding a safe sanctuary for them away from this nightmare, where they could live in peace. Building a home and a life together, where they could be happy. Where he could make sure Harry had everything he needed. Caring for the young man. Loving him, as he deserved to be loved. Cherished. They were foolish dreams, Severus knew, but how he wished he could make them come true. He was such a fool.

 

Severus raised his head from his arms and glared around the lab, half tempted to destroy more of the state of the art equipment the Dark Lord provided. He wouldn't, of course, but he wanted to. With a sigh he stood from the stool and banished the soiled cauldron to the sink for the elves to wash and put away.

 

He needed rest, not recriminations, or fantasies. He needed his mind to be razor sharp if his prodigious intellect was to ferret out an appropriate solution to the problem of the Maternity potion. He closed up the lab and hurried to the suite the Dark Lord assigned him. He would sleep and tackle the problem anew in the morning.

 

While the Potions Master had been ruminating on the conundrum that was Harry Potter, the young man himself sat alone in his Lord's quarters, eating his evening meal in solitude, thankful that Voldemort preferred to eat in the dining hall with his minions. Thankful that the man was too jealous of his toy to parade him in public too often. It was hard enough suffering his attentions in private. In public it was pure misery.

 

He couldn't stand the way the men leered so lasciviously at him. The way they smirked at the clothing his master forced him to wear, and the bruises that adorned his skin. The way the females looked upon him with a strange combination of pity and derision was no better. He preferred being locked up in the Dark Lord's rooms alone to any of that, though he did miss being able to see Severus, even as he was ashamed for the man to see what had become of him, he longed for his presence. So solid and soothing. He wished he could see him, despite the fact it would be a special form of torture, being so near to him, but bound to his master's side, and knowing the Potions Masters eyes would gaze at him with only polite indifference.

 

Harry's eyes stung, and he pushed away the tears that threatened to fall. They would do him no good here. Voldemort would only punish him if he came back to their suite and saw them red and puffy. Harry was forced to walk a fine line between appearing defeated and weak for his master. Tears were a sign of weakness, and would be punished appropriately. Sitting quietly, eyes averted to the floor, was a defeated posture the man would allow, so Harry did his best to stay that way as much as possible. Hiding his face and emotions from the wizard as much as he was able. The only time Harry was allowed to cry was when his master took him to bed. Strangely enough the Dark Lord felt those tears were a sign of his power and virility. If he didn't cry when his master used him for his pleasure, Harry felt the wizard would have been disappointed; angry even.

 

Harry shuddered. So far his master had not taken him in anger. He was rough enough as it was. The young man didn't want to even begin to imagine what his master would be like in bed when he was angry. Harry's skin was already a tapestry of bites and bruises, and it hurt to sit most every day now, though the young man strove always to hide his pain. Harry couldn't even use the bathroom normally anymore thanks to Voldemort's attentions, and had to rely on a special charm to eliminate waste from his body. He supposed he should be grateful his master let him keep his wand and use it for small things like grooming charms. It saved him a great deal of agony, though he was forbidden from actually healing himself.

 

It had been two days since his master demanded pleasure of him, so he was mentally preparing himself for a painful night. Sex with his master was always painful, but it tended to be worse when Voldemort's duties kept him from dallying with his concubine for an extended length of time. It was like the warlock felt he needed to be more brutal to make up for lost time. Harry wondered what he would have to endure this time, and how long it would take before he finally gave up, and began to wish for death. A year, a month, a week, days, hours? Harry didn't know.

 

He thought about Severus, and the nature of hope. He supposed he would continue as long as he knew his beloved continued to exist. As long as he could hope that someday he might, just might, be able to be with the man he loved. He was still able to dream of fathomless obsidian eyes, alight with passion, and soft skillful hands, touching him with tender care. Thoughts of his fingers running through long strands of silky black hair could still bring a wistful smile to his lips. For all the degradation heaped on him, for all the pain he endured on a near nightly basis, he was not yet broken. As long as he could dream of Severus, and love, he would live.

 

Lord Voldemort, dark ruler of magical Britain, sat on his throne and cast an apathetic eye over his crowd of sycophants, listening to Bellatrix natter on about the proposed alliance with the magical Dauphin of the Principality of Southern France with only half an ear. It was growing late, but he still had many more reports he must receive before he could retire to his suite and enjoy the charms of his little concubine. It had been much more fun being the Dark Lord before his conquest had been complete; when he crossed wands with the powerful light wizards who opposed him, and the blood flowed. He missed the days when he trod blood soaked battlefields, crushing his enemies underfoot, and was serenaded by the screams of the dying.

 

He chaffed under the normalcy of all this bureaucracy. It was hard to believe that this mediocrity was what he fought so hard to achieve. It wasn't nearly as glorious as he dreamed. So what if every witch and wizard living under his regime must obey his every whim? What good was that when he must listen to fiscal analysis of their projected agricultural budgets? What good was it when so much time must be wasted listening to debates about the decline of magical artifact manufacturing and related exports. He was so bored. He would almost welcome a goblin uprising, if only to break the monotony.

 

The only bright spot in his life at the moment was his concubine. Potter was turning out to be a delightful diversion. He was having to be gentler with the young wizard than was his want – the boy couldn't bear his heirs if he were totally broken, after all – but he was finding the challenge of using Harry in such a way as to spare his life and sanity, while still satisfying himself, rather entertaining. It was interesting to have a _lover_ survive for more than a few days. The boy did not love him, of course, Voldemort would not want him to. The very idea was repugnant. Bellatrix's behavior was bad enough. But despite the fact that the boy didn't want to be his concubine, and feared him – as well he should – the Dark Lord found he did rather enjoy the boy's company to a certain extent.

 

Harry was quiet, and intelligent, and lovely to look at. It was also pleasant to be able to have conversations with someone else in parseltongue. Nagini was good to have around, but snakes weren't the most stimulating conversationalists. Harry at least was well read, and could converse on a myriad topics when Voldemort wanted that sort of thing. What's more, the young man did so honestly, and didn't just parrot back the Dark Lord's opinions to him in order to curry favor, as his followers tended to do.

 

In his own strange way, Voldemort had grown _fond_ of his concubine. He enjoyed Harry as more than just his sexual outlet. He hadn't expected that to happen. Oh, the sex was rather good, to be sure, but... Yes, he supposed he was fond of the boy. Once the younger wizard bore him the requisite heirs, he might even be tempted to elevate him from concubine to consort. Perhaps. Only time would tell.

 

 

 

 


End file.
